The Wastelander
by TheannaTheWhite
Summary: Her memory all but lost, Louise awakens in a foreign land with a disfiguring injury. With no direction, Louise is forced to survive any way she can. With the strangest companions by her side she sets out on the adventure of a lifetime, seeing the sights from New Vegas, to the Boneyard, and everywhere else in between, all the while wondering where her home truly lies.
1. Chapter 1

_The Wastelander_

_Ain't That a Kick in the Head I_

Doctor Mitchell had lived Goodsprings for over a decade, only a fraction of his life, but somehow it had always felt much longer. Most of his days had been spent as a travelling doctor, lending his services to the people of the Wastes wherever he roamed. Before all of that, memories of cold steel corridors flashed through his mind – his childhood underground.

All of that was long done and over with. Mitchell was too old for travelling these days. Hell, he could barely make it to Chet's store or Trudy's saloon without throwing his back out. With his wife's passing, Mitchell hardly felt the need to move around anymore. She had passed on in Goodsprings, and he hadn't left since.

The people here were a kind sort; even that miser Chet wasn't so bad. Everybody knew each other. It was almost like one big family, like it was down in the vault. Perhaps that was why he stayed. Mitchell still sat on his porch and mulled it over some days. Maybe it was just for the familiarity. Either way, Vault 21 was far out of his reach now.

Nearly every conceivable injury there was had come through Mitchell's home here. Sunny was a regular, certainly. She routinely arrived at his door after clearing geckos from the town well with her arms covered in deep gashes and bites. He didn't mind. Sunny was a good sport. But in all his years of doctoring, Mitchell had never seen anybody take a bullet to their head and live to tell the tale.

Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. The girl was stable, yes, and quietly snoozing away, but there was no way to tell if she would ever be waking up. She could be a vegetable for all he knew. Only time would tell. It had been a fierce fight to save that girl's life – her would-be assassin thankfully wasn't exactly a marksman. The bullet had carved a trench through the right side of her skull, missing everything completely. If she awoke, and was graced with all of her faculties, she would walk away. Of course, she'd be walking away with a disfiguring scar, but that was a small price to pay for a second chance at life, wasn't it?

The woman who found the girl wasn't a local by any means. Mitchell would have known if she was from Goodsprings. There was also the matter of the Pip-Boy computer strapped to her forearm. She had either come across it on her travels, or like him, she had lived her childhood out underground.

Mitchell pulled off his gloves. "So what's her name?"

"Who knows?" The woman said, betraying the doctor's expectations. The woman hadn't left the entire time, so Mitchell figured they must have at least known each other. "I found her like that, just outside of town. She was left for dead."

"Well I can see how somebody woulda thought she was goin' down that road," Mitchell said. He busied himself with cleaning, and sterilization. The woman simply watched from the door, leaning on the frame. "Not many folks catch a bullet to the noggin' and live to tell about it."

"No kidding," the woman agreed. She was raven-haired, cropped to end around her jaw, with cold blue eyes and features that were vaguely Asian. Her duster was long and worn, a kind Mitchell had seen plenty of, but beneath he could tell she cut quite the figure. There was a gangly-looking rifle slung across her back, one not unlike the weapons he'd seen the NCR soldiers toting. He couldn't remember the make or model.

"You happen to see who did it?"

The woman shook her head. "There was nobody around, but she couldn't have been lying there very long."

Mitchell gave a longing look at the woman's wrist. His own Pip-Boy had bit the dust long ago. "Where'd you come across one of those?"

"Oh, this?" The woman held up her arm. "It's mine. Got it when I turned ten."

"So you're a vault dweller, huh?" The doctor pulled at his mustache. "You're not the only one. I was reared up in Vault 21, down in Vegas."

"Yeah?" The woman seemed genuinely interested, to his surprise. Coming across another vault dweller was often a rarity. "I grew up in Vault 95, in Detroit. They opened it five, or six years back."

Mitchell couldn't help but be in some amount of awe. Michigan and Nevada weren't exactly neighbors. "Been on the road ever since?"

The woman snorted. "I don't look _that_ old, do I?" That got a chuckle from Mitchell, despite the situation. "It was open almost a year before I left. I had no reason to stay."

"No family?" Mitchell asked.

"I was an only child," the woman told him. "There was a flu epidemic when I was thirteen, and I lost both my parents. I don't know why I stayed so long after the vault opened. Just scared of the Wastes I guess. One day I just decided I didn't belong there anymore, so I left."

Mitchell was sure this person could regale him with countless tales of what she had seen on the road, and he could do the same to her, but it was getting late, and he wasn't as spry as he had once been. "Well I'm sorry to hear that. So I reckon you're just passin' through? Not much to see around here."

"Depends," the woman said. "I was going to stop in Primm, since I heard they have a nice big hotel there, but when I showed up a bunch of soldiers turned me away. I didn't know the NCR was this far east."

"They haven't been around that long," Mitchell explained. "Rumor has it some local gang has the place took over."

"Yeah, that's what the grunts told me. So I ended up spending the rest of my day huffing it over here," the woman continued. She scoffed. "That girl is stupid lucky I came across her. _Please_ tell me there's some place to stay around here."

Mitchell nodded. "Talk to Trudy, down at the saloon. She's got a few rooms there. Hopefully you can catch her before she hits the hay." He allowed himself a single laugh. "You wanna see a gal mad? Wake Trudy up in the middle of the night."

The woman laughed too. "I've dealt with worse, I'm sure." She turned from the doorway, and Mitchell followed to see her out. She waved with a mock salute as she stepped out the front door. "Have a good one, Doc. I wouldn't mind meeting that girl if she wakes up while I'm still here."

"Well, if she does I'm sure you'll hear of it."

"News travels fast," the woman agreed. She grinned. "Especially when the bar's only a hundred yards away."

The woman was certainly right about that. News in Goodsprings often found you faster than a bullet.

…

Consciousness came as a cold, harsh reality that day. In those moments, all she knew was the pure, hollow agony coursing through her head. It was a headache like no other. She couldn't even open her eyes; the light was just too much. She was in a bed. The sheets were stiff and itchy, and the mattress was hard as a rock, but it felt like the warmest and safest cocoon in the world right now. There was an odd smell in the air that she couldn't quite place, almost sickening. Somewhere in the room something was blowing air around. She could hear the whirring, grating on her ears like sand.

What happened? That was the question first and foremost in her mind. She couldn't remember what could have brought her into such a situation, lying in a bed as if she were on the brink of death. Then, with a pit of horror forming in her stomach, she realized that she couldn't remember _anything_. All of it was one big blank. Something was terribly wrong.

She forced her eyes open, squinting. There wasn't even that much light in the room, but it just _hurt_. Even her ears started ringing. She tried to get up, and then suddenly, she felt the bile rushing up. It shot from her mouth like a fountain just as she lunged over the side of the bed, splattering all over the floor. This was too much. Blissful unconsciousness felt much more welcoming.

What was her name? It seemed like it was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't spit it out. Her name! Something so simple, yet it felt so far out of reach. How stupid was that? This had to be a dream. She urged again.

Hurried footsteps grew closer at an alarming rate. "Whoa, whoa!" It sounded like an old man, a kindly old man. Comforting hands forced her back down. She tried to get a look at him but everything was so blurry. "Easy there, easy. Just relax a second."

He wasn't speaking her tongue, but she recognized it nonetheless. It was from a neighboring country, she was sure. He spoke with such a strange accent.

"You have no idea how lucky you are, little lady," the old man went on. He was rummaging about somewhere. Perhaps he was going to clean up her vomit. She hoped so, because she was in no condition to do it herself. "Not many people get to wake up after gettin' shot in the head."

Shot in the _head?_ There was no way. Surely that wasn't possible. Who in the world would shoot her in the head? For what reason? Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the light, and she found herself able to stare up at the ceiling in a daze. There was something wrapped tight around her head. It itched. She wanted to tear it away. Looking, she wondered, _what in the world is that thing on the ceiling?_ It seemed to be the source of the infernal racket.

Then, the man was looming over, and his features finally became clear. He was certainly old, without a speck of hair on his head, and a great white mustache hanging beneath his nose. "You've been out cold a couple of days now," he said. "I wasn't sure if you were ever wakin' up. How do you feel?"

How could she describe how she felt? Especially in a language she didn't use every day. What was that tongue called? The blasted thing escaped her. She worked her dry mouth, croaking out the only word she could. "…Hurts."

"Well, all things considered you're lucky to be alive, little lady," the man said. He moved away, and she heard rummaging once again. "I'll give you something for the pain. You just rest up all you need."

That sounded like a capitol idea. As for dulling the pain? Even better.

"This'll probably put you out again," the man told her. That was certainly fine to her, by all means. "But before I do, can you tell me your name?"

She felt something rising in her throat. It wasn't the onset of another vomiting session. A sob, more like. She kept it back, fighting for all she was worth. "I… I can't…" she croaked out.

The brief silence made it doubly apparent that not knowing her own name was a bad thing, but she had already known that anyway. Who was this man even supposed to be? Was he some kind of healer? "Don't worry yourself too hard, it might come back. Now, you're going to feel a little pinch."

The pinch came, but it was a tickle compared to the throbbing pain coursing through her head. She looked, and saw the man _sticking something_ into her arm. She wanted to squeal, to squirm away, but her body was limp before she knew it. The clear fluid went straight into her veins, and all of the pain washed away as her world went black.

…

Trudy knew that she had unwittingly found herself in a tough spot, yet again. It had always been something in Goodsprings. Usually it was geckos wandering down from the hills, and while they were annoying, they were dealt with easily enough.

Now, her newest problem was a little more complicated than mindless geckos. The caravaneer had stumbled into town only last week, pleading for shelter of any kind. Trudy, figuring that she was doing right, offered Ringo a spot in the old Poseidon Energy station up on the hill. It had been empty ever since Goodsprings was settled anyway. They had once used it for storage, but even doing that was rare thing nowadays. Trudy told him he could hole up in there however long he wanted.

That was before Trudy had learned that the newest local gang was hot on his tail. The NCR had taken over an old prison nearby and restored it to a functioning correctional facility. That seemed like a great idea at first. The Wastes had so many ne'er-do-wells roaming around causing trouble, so why not throw all of them into a hole?

Using the prisoners for manual labor wasn't something Trudy was opposed to, but giving the prisoners access to thousands of pounds of explosives seemed like a bit of a stupid move to her. Sure, the stuff must have been monitored, but that hadn't stopped the inmates from getting their hands on enough to do some serious damage. The NCR soldiers were slaughtered, if they hadn't run for the hills, and now the Powder Gangers had run of the place.

So now the caravaneer named Ringo was holed up in the old fueling station, and the Powder Gangers had come knocking. Ringo's caravan had gotten ambushed by the gang-bangers, and Ringo was the only survivor. Apparently he had taken a few of the Powder Gangers down before he got away, and as a result, the gangsters had sent some brute to harass them. For what he lacked in tactfulness, he certainly made up for with his persistence.

"I'm done playin' games," Joe Cobb growled, jabbing his finger in Trudy's face. She wasn't backing down from this idiot. Trudy had been among the first to settle Goodsprings as a young woman, and they had fought against the Wastes tooth and nail to keep it theirs. Some cocky ex-cons weren't going to change that. "Next time I come here and you don't hand him over, me and my friends are burnin' this shithole to the ground."

It was no empty threat. Oftentimes Trudy wished she could shirk the responsibilities of being town mayor. Then she could just be happy bartending the saloon. "I'll keep that in mind," Trudy said smoothly. "Now if you don't plan on buying a drink, get out."

Cobb did, but not without flipping the bird over his shoulder as he barreled through the door. Relieved, Trudy leaned back onto the bar top with a heavy sigh. If anything, those idiots ambushing caravans deserved to get shot up.

"Why don't you just shoot him in the frigging face?"

Trudy groaned out loud. The newest resident of Goodsprings had gotten on her bad side right from the get-go. Two days ago the woman had roused Trudy just as she managed to close her eyes for the night, looking for a room. Who knew why she was still hanging around? The vault dweller sat in a dark corner of the room, nursing a glass of straight whiskey.

"You mean murder him?" Trudy spat. "Is that how you did things in your little vault? Because that's not how we do things here."

The woman in the corner barked out a laugh. "Come on. He has it coming. Wasteland justice. Next time I see him I'm blowing his head off."

"_No_, you are not."

"Oh, so what are you exactly? My mother?"

"I'm the _mayor_," Trudy told the woman.

The woman downed the rest of her drink and stood. "That doesn't make you my boss. Just saying." Trudy gave the woman a dark stare as she marched for the door. "Either way, sooner or later you're going to have to hand that guy over, or fight those assholes. I know what I'd do."

As much as she hated it Trudy couldn't deny that the woman was right, and she suspected that both their decisions would be the same. It was only the matter of getting the rest of the town on board. Goodsprings didn't exactly have a high population to begin with, and who knew how many men the Powder Gangers had at their disposal.

Trudy crossed her arms. "If it does come to that, and you're still kickin' around, what do you plan on doing?"

"Oh I'll be around. I'm making sure of it." A wide and predatory grin spread across the woman's face, not unlike the faces those savage geckos wore. "I know you think I'm a little shit, and I am, but I've got your back."

And then the woman was gone, probably to help Sunny out with the geckos again. Trudy had seen them talking it over. Oddly, Trudy still hadn't caught the former vault dweller's name. Every time they spoke the woman was on the way out, or on her way to bed. Trudy was confident they'd come into contact again. The woman's room had been rented out for yet another night.

If the traveler was willing to stick up for Goodsprings, then perhaps she wasn't so bad.

…

_"My, my… you've summoned quite a… peculiar familiar, Miss Valliére."_

_Everything was black. All she could hear was a woman's voice. Suddenly, laughter exploded in her ears. _

_"Louise the Zero! Don't go around grabbing random peasants off the street just because you can't summon anything!"_

_"Shut up! I did everything perfectly!" Was… that her own voice saying that? "He was all that appeared!"_

_"Don't lie!" The laughter went on. "I bet you couldn't even cast Summon Servant properly, right?"_

_"Mrs. Chevreuse!" It was her voice again. "I've been insulted! Malicorne the Common Cold just insulted me!"_

_"Common Cold? I'm Malicorne the Windward! I haven't caught any cold!"_

_"Well your hoarse voice sounds exactly like you've caught one!"_

_"Miss Valliére, Mister Malicorne! Please stop this unnecessary argument." It was that woman again. She sounded middle-aged. Was she in some position of authority? What was all this business about? Who was Louise? Who was Malicorne? None of it made any sense to her. "Calling friends Zero or Common Cold is not acceptable. Do you understand?"_

_"Mrs. Chevreuse, I'm only called that as a joke, but for Louise, it's the truth."_

Her ears were suddenly filled with a deafening, explosive roar. It felt like somebody had just smacked a stone across her head as a piercing wail ripped through her ears. She violently jerked from her slumber, barely able to suppress the sudden cry that threatened to fly from her lips. What kind of dream was that supposed to be?

The room was one she didn't recognize, until moments later when it came back to her. Surprising, since she remembered so little. She was here, in some person's house, badly hurt, and with no memory. Desperately, she wished the few agonizing minutes she had been awake before was the dream instead, so she could forget it and move on to... whatever it was she was meant to be doing.

Throbbing, scraping pain had come back to her almost immediately. It felt like some beast was raking its claws along the inside of her skull. No pain could possibly be worse than this. It even jolted through her mouth, and rattled her teeth.

"Awake again?" Her head whipped around, which she regretted after the lightning bolt of pain shot through it, and saw the old man with the moustache again. He was sitting in a wooden rocking chair, close to an end table with a book in his hands. Had he been sitting there reading, waiting for her to wake up? She wasn't as disoriented as when she had first woken up, so she took the moment to study him more closely. He wore old and well-worn clothes, but they weren't much like anything she was used to seeing. At least, that was what it felt like. The senior donned a pair of faded blue trousers, made of some strange-looking material, and a smoky grey collared shirt. A pair of suspenders held his trousers in place. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

It was no explosion that had reverberated in her ears, that much was obvious. Looking, it seemed that the sound must have come from the old man setting his coffee mug down on the table a little too loudly, or perhaps just at the right moment. With a drawn out grown, she sunk back into her pillow and closed her eyes. She wasn't quite in the mood to conduct a conversation.

That all changed when a suspicious sensation sprung up from between her legs. She had to pee like no tomorrow. Amnesia or not, she _was not_ wetting herself. Desperately, she tried to crawl from the bed, but the old man was there to stop her. "Hey, take it easy girlie," he told her soothingly. "You ain't in no condition to be goin' anyplace."

She had to make him see reason. "I… I have to go," she croaked. Her mouth was so incredibly dry.

"Whatever it is I'm sure it can wait until you rest up, little lady."

"No…" How could he not understand? If this went on any longer she was going to empty her bladder, whether she liked it or not. "I have to _go!_"

That seemed to be it. The old man's face was struck with realization. "Come on then. I'll help you to the toilet."

…

"There's no need to be embarrassed. It's all purely professional. I'm old enough to be your grandfather anyway."

She couldn't even bring herself to care about such petty embarrassment at this point. It was far from her mind through all of this pain and weakness, but the flowing relief of an empty bladder was certainly a blessing in its own right. The short walk down the hall to that room had felt like some kind of great journey, and the chamber pot she had relieved herself on was an odd thing, but why? How could she have forgotten so much?

All she had were names from that strange dream. The images still lingered in her mind, blurred and distorted. They were already quickly fading. Louise, Chevreuse, Malicorne. Who were those people? What was with the strange gown she was wearing? She would never wear anything this gaudy. It couldn't have belonged to her.

'Louise' struck some familiarity with her. It had sounded like her voice speaking when this Louise person had been rather rudely addressed, but had that really been her? Who _was_ she? The intense throbbing in her head continued as she mulled it over. Was she supposed to be Louise? Was that what she was called, Louise the Zero? For some reason that felt like an insult. Her stomach twisted at the thought of being called 'Zero'. It didn't matter if it was actually her name or not. For the time being, she would be going by Louise. She thought it was at least the nicest sounding of the three.

"Folks 'round here call me Doc Mitchell," the old man introduced. He returned to his chair with a grunt. "Do you remember waking up yesterday?"

Louise was sitting upright in the bed. "I do… b-but that was yesterday?" To her, it felt like that was mere hours ago. She found Mitchell studying her up and down. What was it? Did she look strange? Louise knew that the language she was speaking wasn't her first, and that it was heavily accented. Perhaps that was it. She thanked whoever had been watching over her that she could remember her languages and letters.

"You were out again for about sixteen hours," Mitchell explained. "How are you feeling now?"

"Like I've been trampled by a horse," Louise groaned weakly. She meant to rub at her head, but she immediately pulled her hand away with a hiss when the pain spiked again.

"That'd really be somethin'," Mitchell mused. "I don't reckon anyone's been trampled by a horse in a long, long time."

Louise wanted to ask why, because as far as she knew horses were a normal means of transportation. Instead, she addressed a more pressing issue. "Water… could I have water?"

Mitchell seemed to return from the next room in record time, holding a tall, sweating glass of crystal clear water. Louise was so thirsty she could have pounced the man for it, though in all likelihood that would only succeed in spilling water all over the floor. There was also the matter of hardly being able to walk, or even think through the grinding pain.

Hungrily, Louise downed the entire glass in one go. It was pure, blissful heaven. As she wiped her mouth on her wrist, she noticed Mitchell giving her a wry stare while he chuckled. "Before you snatched it away from me I was _gonna _say that I purified it this morning, so don't worry yourself."

It hadn't even entered her mind that she might have been a little aggressive when accepting the water, but who could blame her? What was he supposed to mean by that anyway? Louise glanced away, managing to feel a little sheepish even in this state. "My apologies."

Mitchell waved her off, easing himself into his chair once again. "Now, now, there's no need for any of that."

It was time for answers. "What happened to me?"

"Can't be sure," Mitchell said thoughtfully. "A woman found you just outside of town, left for dead. You took a bullet, right in the noggin."

Louise could hardly believe something like that. What had _she_ done to warrant being shot in the head? Such a thing was so gruesome and barbaric it was almost beyond her comprehension. She resisted the urge to run her hands all over her cranium to make sure all of it was still there – it would only hurt worse than hell again. It couldn't have been that bad considering that she was still breathing. As far as she knew when somebody shot you in the head you were almost guaranteed to become very, very dead. "How could I… w-why? Why did somebody do this to me? I can't remember…"

Mitchell nodded. Rather than agreeing with her words, which wouldn't have made any sense, he seemed to be mulling something over. "At any rate you're lucky it only grazed you. It's a damn miracle you're still kickin', little lady. If that woman hadn't come across you layin' in the road you'd have been done for."

There were two people she had to thank. This old man must have been the healer that had taken it upon himself to nurse her back to health, so he, along with this unknown woman, were both responsible for saving her life. "Who was it that found me?" Louise asked quietly, holding the empty glass.

"I never did catch her name," Mitchell admitted. "But she's been hangin' around town since she brought you in. Speakin' of names, can you remember yours?"

"I-I think… it might be Louise," she said, feeling unsure. "I had a dream… and I think somebody called me that."

Mitchell appeared concerned. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I don't know…" Louise told him, her frown perpetual. "It's just… bits. Conversations, names, places… everything is so cloudy. It's strange… it feels like… everything was just a dream."

As he leaned back into his chair Mitchell let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry to say, but I'm not all that surprised. I had to go rootin' in your noggin to get all the bits of lead out, and gettin' shot ain't exactly gentle in the first place. Hopefully your memory comes back as the days go on."

Louise glanced around nervously. _In_ her head? That just made her squeamish. "Do… do you have a mirror? I want to see…"

With a nod Mitchell disappeared into the next room, and returned moments later with a hand mirror. "Don't get too startled," he told her. "You've seen better days."

There was absolutely no doubt about that. Grasping the mirror, Louise finally got a look at the damage done. Her complexion had become ghastly and pale, with dark circles hanging beneath her eyes. Her prized strawberry blonde hair was a massive, dirty rat's nest, and her maroon eyes just looked so tired. It was obvious where her injury was. The bandages were wrapped tight around her head just above her brow. They had even begun to stain through on her right side.

"God…" Louise croaked. "I _do_ look horrible, don't I?"

Surprisingly, that got a chuckle out of the old man. He took the mirror. "After you rest some more and get washed up you'll almost look good as new."

Louise caught it. "…Almost?"

Mitchell's mouth drew into a tight line. "You can't see it yet, but I had to shave some of your hair away to do my work," he explained with a sympathetic face. It seemed even he knew how a girl could prize her hair, and her looks. "You're gonna have a big scar along your head. A noticeable one." Mitchell shrugged. "A small price to pay for a second chance, I think."

He was right. Despite how much Louise wanted to say no, Mitchell was right. If she had to choose between being dead with perfect hair, or being alive with messy, greasy, and uneven hair, the choice was easy. "I'm alive…" she croaked, tears welling in her eyes. She smiled, weak, but true. "Thank you… thank you so much."

…

She didn't know how long she had slept, but when Louise awoke again she was alone in the room, back in her world of pain. It was still light out, so it couldn't have been long. Perhaps she had just slept away an entire day again. The curtains that had been draped across the window a few yards beyond the foot of her bed were parted, but from this angle Louise couldn't see outside.

Then, without warning, something jumped up onto her bed. Louise nearly screamed her head off then and there out of fright, but when she realized that she was merely looking at a small cat, she let out a sigh of relief. She ran her hands over the feline's fur. "Hello," Louise greeted with a small smile. "What's your name, hm?" The cat was a smoky grey tom, and refused to remain any longer on Louise's lap. Claws clicked on the hardwood floor as the cat leapt away and high-tailed it across the room.

It jumped up onto the window sill, and there the cat remained throwing looks between Louise and whatever was outside. Did the cat mean for Louise to get up and look out the window with it? Despite not wanting to venture beyond this bed ever again, she felt a little curious. What town was she in? Maybe she would recognize it, and that could jog a few memories.

The pain that had dulled blossomed again in full. Louise ground her teeth together as her bare feet touched the floor. She had never experienced such an unpleasant pain in her life, she was sure of it. Not even her monthlies could ever get this bad. Louise used everything she could get her hands on to support herself along the way. The wall was her biggest help. Louise had to put almost all of her weight on it.

Louise nearly fell over from shock. Outside, the land was harsh, whipping, and unforgiving. The small village was literally clinging to life in the middle of some arid desert, which gave Louise great cause for concern. The amnesia may have wiped all of her specific memories, but Louise knew in the pit of her stomach that where she had last been was _not_ a desert. There were lush grasslands, snow-capped mountains, and evergreens as far as the eye could see. She could almost picture them in her mind.

That begged the question of where she had ended up, and how exactly she had gotten here. Louise knew next to nothing about herself, or any of her family. She knew they existed, but as to who they were and what they looked like, it escaped her. Did she have brothers? Sisters? Were they poor? Rich?

She had been going to school. That hit her suddenly. Louise felt familiar with her homeland and its customs, but the name of such a place was beyond her capabilities at the moment. She had been going to a prestigious school, to learn… a sacred art. What was it? Shouldn't something like that be easy to remember?

Her family definitely hadn't been doing too badly. Louise felt comfortable in believing that. They had money, and they were important. _She_ was important too, but she felt looked down upon. Disliked and hated. Almost like a black sheep. Why was that? It started gnawing at her as she idly smoothed down the cat's fur.

That being said, Louise wasn't about to order that kind old man to kneel and lick her feet the next time he came into the room. He had saved her life, when others likely would have assumed her dead already. That was something noteworthy, Louise thought. There weren't a lot of kind and selfless people like that around.

All thought processes came to a halt when Louise heard the tittering squeal. "You shouldn't be out of bed!"

Louise whirled out of fright, which turned out to be the wrong thing to do. A jolt of white hot agony shot through her head, and she sunk straight to her knees. The cat fled the room instantly, bounding off to some other part of the house, while footsteps fast approached. The owner of the voice had been a girl, someone young.

"Oh-my-gosh!" Louise couldn't get a good look at the girl. The pain blurred her vision again, and had taken most control from her limbs. Louise was essentially left helpless – an idea she absolutely loathed. "Hold on, hold on! Stop squirming! Let me help you back to the bed!"

It was a blur, but the next thing Louise knew she was back under the sheets. Mercifully, her head began to clear, and she got a good view of the young girl. Judging quickly, Louise estimated that this girl couldn't have been much older than herself. She had short chocolate brown hair up in pigtails, matching eyes, and a pretty, round face that was currently creased in concern. The girl sported a sleeveless grey tunic with a rather low neck that was splotched with stains, and a pair of shorts made from the same strange material as Doc Mitchell's trousers, although it was obvious the legs hadn't always been that short. Louise spied numerous dark tattoos on the girl's bared skin. The sweeping, sharp designs crept down from her left shoulder to her upper arm, and another set ran the length of her left thigh.

Louise pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to suppress her headache. "Who are you?"

"Oh! I'm Delilah," the girl introduced. She flashed a kind smile. "I help out Doc Mitchell sometimes when he needs me. You really do have a crazy accent, like he said. Where are you from?"

Delilah seemed nice enough, and it seemed like she really enjoyed talking judging from the rate she had rattled out those words. "If only I knew," Louise groaned. "I'm afraid I don't recall."

"Right." Delilah seemed to have only just remembered. "Doc Mitchell told me you had some severe retrograde amnesia. My bad."

Louise cocked her head. Amnesia was a word she could recognize, but what preceded it had her confused. "I'm sorry?"

"It's like… you lost memory of things that happened, or stuff you learned." Before Louise could confirm or deny such a thing, Delilah went on. "Do you, um, need anything? Mitchell's stepped out for a bit. There's a town meeting or something."

"Water, please." Louise's lips felt so dry and cracked. There was next to no moisture in this blistering, arid room.

Delilah nodded and turned away. "Water, right. Water," she muttered to herself. Louise watched her leave, and saw even more tattoos on Delilah's back. What did they mean? Louise couldn't recall seeing many tattoos in her life. She knew sailors often had them.

When Delilah returned the water was downed posthaste. Delilah could only stare when the emptied glass was returned to her hands. "…Do you want more?"

Louise waved her off. "I'm fine."

Delilah flopped back into Mitchell's rocking chair, pouting. "I was kinda hoping you might have remembered some stuff. People who wander into town always have cool stories."

Cool stories? How could any story be 'cool' when there was such an unbearable heat in the air? Louise chalked it up to a language barrier. Perhaps she wasn't as bilingual as she thought. "If it's any consolation, I would like remember those things as well."

Delilah nodded. "The Doc told me you're probably the luckiest person alive, though. That's something I guess, right?"

A scoff escaped Louise's lips. "Perhaps I shall feel that way when it doesn't feel like my head's been torn open."

"Yeah," Delilah agreed. "It's a good thing somebody found you."

That reminded Louise. She had been saved by some travelling woman. "Who was that person?"

Delilah paused in a moment of thought. "She's still hanging around, but I don't really talk to her. She's usually with Sunny, out shooting geckos or something." She screwed up her face. "_So_ fun," she remarked sarcastically.

Shooting things for no other reason than to shoot them seemed rather barbaric to Louise. The gun was such a hateful invention. Wide awake and alert, Louise knew she wouldn't be going back to sleep anytime soon. Talking up Delilah for some kind of stimulation seemed like the best choice for now. Already, Louise wished that the cat would come back. Having it curled up in her lap would at least make her feel a little better. "So you live here, in this little town?"

"Don't remind me," Delilah groaned. "I've lived here in Goodsprings my whole life, but it hasn't really been the same since I lost my parents, _and_ Uncle Sulik. I've been thinking about striking out and finding my own destiny, or something. I'm just too scared to go out into the Wastes by myself. I still have Dad's old rifle, but I can hardly hit the broadside of a barn with it. I could probably get Sunny to teach me to shoot better. I heard she's a pretty good shot."

For somebody who had apparently lost most of her family, Delilah seemed rather chipper. Louise honestly couldn't tell if it was a forced act or not. There were several things Louise wanted to question. What in the world were the Wastes? That didn't sound like a particularly pleasant locale. Who was Sunny? What the hell was a rifle? First and foremost, she decided to address what seemed most important. "I'm sorry," Louise told her. "About your family."

"You can only move forward," Delilah told her with a sigh. "That's what Trudy says anyway. Some days are harder than others. The worst part is living by myself in a big empty house." There was a moment of silence where Delilah was merely looking down at her lap and Louise was feeling entirely awkward. Suddenly, and thankfully, Delilah shot to her feet and broke the atmosphere. "Enough chatting!" She chirped. "Doc Mitchell told me to get you cleaned up once you were awake!"

Louise couldn't help but scoff at that. "For what? Am I going to a ball?"

"No," Delilah answered, laughing. "But you've been in bed a few days now, and honestly, you're getting pretty ripe."

Despite the sweltering heat the hot bath was absolute paradise. Louise felt like she could have spent the rest of her life in there, soaking in the water and wrinkling until she became a blonde prune. Delilah refused to be sent away, citing that she was under strict orders to help Louise into the tub, and to keep an eye on her. It seemed reasonable enough, Louise supposed, but from the redness on Delilah's cheeks she could tell they were both feeling a little embarrassed.

It felt a lot better when Louise was finally able to cover herself with a towel, and glancing towards the mirror, she noted she looked loads better than she had before. Her color was coming back at least, but those bags were still under her eyes. She was reminded of a raccoon.

Then it came time for her bandages to be changed. Louise hadn't expected that, but she knew she should have. They came off easily under the direction of Delilah's deft fingers, and Louise was shocked into silence at what she saw. It was grotesque in every sense of the word. True to Mitchell's words a sizeable patch of hair had been shaved away, much more than she had anticipated, and there was a huge bald patch on the side of her head, one that surely wouldn't be covered by the rest of her hair. The delicate flesh that was left exposed had been shredded, resulting in a massive wound that stretched nearly all the way across the side of her head. It was a dark, red, jagged stripe, glistening in some places, coagulated and cracked in others. Louise was disgusted, and most of all, heartbroken. This was so much worse than she thought.

"It's healing really well," Delilah remarked, oblivious to Louise's turmoil. "The powders work wonders. Sulik taught me how to make this healing powder out of concentrated tobacco. Doc uses it when he wants to save on stims, or when he just doesn't have any. It's working better than I thought. Another two or three days and you should be able to leave."

That came as a surprise. "…Really?"

Delilah nodded happily. She began re-wrapping the wound in gauze. "Mhm."

Most people would have been happy to hear that, but Louise wasn't. It made her anxious, and afraid. She had no idea where she was supposed to go and no idea where she was. Apparently this was some place referred to as 'the Wastes'? It only sounded less and less friendly as her thoughts went on.

Louise spent the rest of the day milling about the house, much to Delilah's dismay. Mitchell had ordered strict bed rest, but Louise was feeling so stiff and stir crazy that she absolutely had to get up and move around. Besides, aside from the dull ache in the side of her head she was feeling much better. Walking was no longer such a serious chore.

When Mitchell returned he seemed a little cross at first, but when he learned Louise was feeling so well he was pleasantly surprised and even invited Delilah to remain for dinner. Mitchell said he would be serving brahmin steaks, something Delilah seemed positively delighted about. Louise wasn't sure of the difference between brahmin steaks and regular steaks, but they seemed to taste exactly the same to her. Mitchell and Delilah were both impressed with how furiously Louise had devoured her food, much to her embarrassment. She was hungry enough to eat a horse.

Later in the evening, Mitchell spoke to Delilah about the town meeting before the girl left for home. Louise hadn't paid much attention, but it sounded like something serious was happening in these parts. It was nothing to do with her anyway, so why worry?

Mitchell returned to the sitting room with two cups in hand. "I was talkin' to that girl today," he said, handing Louise a cup. The tea was piping hot. Mitchell sat back in his armchair, whilst Louise remained curled up on the sofa. The cat, named Jasper, was at her side. "You know, the one who brought you in?"

_That_ woman again. Louise wished she could learn the person's blasted name. "She's still here? I believe you said she was a traveller, correct?"

"Yup," Mitchell nodded, sipping from his coffee. "Seems interested in the town. Hell if I know why. We're havin' some trouble with the local gangs. Nothin' new there. She asked how you were doing, an' I told her you were up and about. I said to come by anytime, hell, I even invited her to dinner, but she looked like she had somewhere to be. Trudy says she always looks that way. Strange girl."

Louise nursed her own beverage, staring at a random spot on the wall. "I would certainly like to thank her."

…

Ringo was jolted from his fitful slumber to a rapping on the door, and in that single moment his heart stopped. A million scenarios flashed through his mind, all of them ending with him in Powder Ganger hands. He pulled his semi-automatic from his holster, and quietly, the caravaneer got to his feet.

Those god-damn gangsters couldn't just leave well enough alone, could they? The bastards had not only taken two of his friends from him, but they were willing to go through the residents of this town to get to him. Ringo wasn't going down without a fight. He fully expected them to drag him back to the NCRCF, and there they would probably do some fairly unpleasant things to him. That wasn't going to happen. Ringo was going down shooting.

The door of the Poseidon Energy station wasn't exactly something to call his, but it was close enough. The rickety old door wouldn't hold up if somebody was truly intent on breaking it down, so Ringo trained his pistol on the door and deactivated the Browning's safety. He almost left his boots when another series of impatient raps reverberated through the ancient store.

"Who is it?" Ringo barked.

It was woman who replied. "Pizza girl."

Ringo faltered. "…Who?"

"The fucking pizza girl," the woman said again. "Come on. Thirty minutes or it's free, and then I don't get paid."

"…Is this some kind of joke? I'm really not in the –"

"Yes, it's a joke," the woman interrupted, groaning. "Just open the door man. If I was going to kill you I wouldn't have frigging knocked first."

There was some logic in that, Ringo supposed. Despite the woman's words, he kept his pistol in a tight grip as he approached the door. Tenderly, he unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open just enough to show his face. He studied the vaguely oriental-looking woman on the other side. "Yo," she greeted, flashing a peace sign.

"What do you want?" Ringo hissed impatiently.

The woman seemed unaffected by the urgency in his tone. The aura she threw off was completely causal. "Can I come in?"

"Why?"

"So I'm not standing outside like some kind of asshole. I just want to talk."

Reluctantly, Ringo allowed the woman inside. The sun had already set, so he doubted anybody could have seen his head poking out into the darkness just then, but he was still feeling paranoid. As soon as the door was shut the woman busied herself with lighting a cigarette. It took her a few attempts to get the lighter going, and there were plenty of curses in between. "So I hear you're in a bit of a pickle."

Ringo finally holstered his pistol. He leaned against the wall, biting out a huff. "It's something like that."

"This backwards-ass little town had a meeting about you today," the woman went on. She paced through the room, studying Ringo's unappealing living space. "I came to say that you might have to make yourself scarce."

"Did they finally decide to throw me to the wolves?"

"More or less." The woman clicked her tongue and faced him. Annoyance flashed across her face. "Four of us voted to fight them off, and everybody else wanted to turn you over. Pussies. That idiot running the store said my vote didn't count because I don't live here. I told him to go eat a bag of –"

"I get it," Ringo interrupted, perturbed at the woman's vulgarity. "But I can't sneak out of town yet. It isn't safe, and even if I did get away the Powder Gangers wouldn't leave these people alone. Do you think they'd believe it when Trudy tells them that I just ran off? They're going to blame her for helping me escape, even if she didn't."

The woman nodded. "As much as I'd like to leave and not give a shit, there _are_ a few good people here." She regarded him. "Would you help us fight them off?"

Ringo didn't even need a moment to think. "Of course."

Strolling towards the door, the woman hummed. "Then why don't you stick around a bit, hm? I think I can get somebody else on board with us. Hopefully the Powder Gangers don't show their faces for a few days."

With that, the woman yanked the door open. Ringo tried to stop her, but she was already gone by the time he got a word out. He let out a sigh. She could have at least given him her name.

Or loaned him a few cigarettes.

…

Morning came bright and early for Louise, and compared to the last few times she had awoken she felt great. There was still aching in her head, but it was nothing she couldn't deal with. Louise knew that aching would take quite a while to go away completely, but in the meantime Doc Mitchell had given her an easy solution.

Louise downed the two capsules and the glass of water on the end table. The pills were meant to dull the pain, which they did well enough, and they didn't make her loopy and useless like the injections. Tired, Louise shuffled into the dining room, wiping her eyes. The smell of breakfast pulled her along. It was the fifth day she had been under Doc Mitchell's care now, and with all the strange things he had been putting in her veins through those needles she truly felt fit enough to go along her merry way. If only she knew where to go.

After breakfast, Mitchell brought out a neatly folded bundle of clothes. "These are yours," he told her. "I had 'em cleaned for you."

The ensemble was far more alluring than this gown she had been forced in to. There was a white, collared shirt, a black skirt, black leggings, and the undergarments to go with it. Mitchell was adamant that the shoes weren't fit for traipsing around the Wastes, so he was generous enough to give her a pair of boots. Apparently they were one of many pairs to belong to his late wife. They were high, brown leather boots, complete with spurs and all. Louise noticed that they really did jingle with every step she took.

Then, Mitchell produced a strange object that he claimed was hers. A diamond ring. She balked at the sight of it. Something like that didn't come cheap. "That's supposed to be mine?"

Mitchell nodded. "It was on _your_ finger, so I'm assumin' it is." He let out a chuckle. "You married or somethin'? No offence, but you seem a little young for that kinda thing."

"O-of course I'm not married!" Louise insisted, her face red. "I-I'm not even close to being ready for that sort of thing." Mitchell laughed, loud and full. Reluctantly, Louise took the ring. There was no way in hell she was wearing it around. Louise dropped it into her boot.

Doc Mitchell told her that he would have liked for Louise to stay around, but his house was no hotel. The bed was needed for others who stumbled in worse for wear, and that made plenty of sense to Louise. She was directed to Delilah's house, who apparently wouldn't mind having a roommate.

Mitchell gave Louise another task along the way. A small bag filled with what sounded like jingling coins – Doc's payment to Trudy for the season, apparently. Mitchell expressed that his back was feeling particularly sore that morning, and with all he had done for her, Louise had no qualms about performing such a simple favor. She didn't think she'd ever be able to pay back Mitchell's kindness.

That was how Louise found herself outside, the door slammed shut behind her. Goodsprings looked a little bigger from this angle, but it was still nothing to be in awe at. Doc Mitchell's house was on a hill overlooking town, so Louise decided not to waste any time and stomped down the path. It was even hotter out here than it was inside.

At the bottom of the hill Louise noticed a small herd of animals grazing on withered grass within a pen. She thought they were goats at first, but they were simply too large. They were the size of bulls, with massive horns that curled around the backs of their heads. Rough, grey fur covered their bodies, aside from their faces, where reddened skin was bared. They seemed docile enough, but they had a naturally angry look on their faces. When one lazily looked up at Louise's passing, she immediately broke eye contact and continued on her way. There was a man in there with them. He gave her a smile, and a small wave. Nervously, Louise returned the gesture.

Mitchell had told Louise where to find Trudy. The saloon wasn't difficult to pick out – it had a rather large sign denoting it as the 'Prospector's Saloon'. Louise trudged down the main drag, spurs jingling, and noticed she was getting quite a few stares from passersby. Ahead, a tumbleweed danced across the road, along with a harsh gust of wind. What a strange-looking place.

Louise grew unsettled. Why did so many people have guns? They looked a little odd, but they were certainly guns. There was no mistaking it. So far it looked like Louise was the only one who didn't have a gun. Is that why they were looking at her? Or was it because she was wearing an outfit markedly different than anything else she was seeing.

Mercifully, the saloon was upon her, but she had yet another hurdle to pass – the beady-eyed old man sitting next to the door in an old rocking chair. He regarded her, and spat a disgusting black wad into metal bucket. Louise could see that it was a quarter ways full of the stuff. He didn't say anything to her as she passed through the saloon's doors. He just stared.

Immediately, a dog started barking from somewhere in the back of the room. A woman's berating voice called out along with it. "Cheyenne! Give it up!"

The saloon seemed to be divided into two areas. The room in front of Louise was dark, sparsely inhabited, and filled with several strange tables lined with green along their tops. The room through the doorway on the left seemed to be where the most activity was going on. Louise went that way.

'The most activity' didn't amount to much. A few patrons sat in the booths along the walls, and there was only one person sitting at the bar, a woman nursing a beer. Tobacco smoke hung at the ceilings. It wasn't the nicest smelling room Louise had ever been in. Mitchell had told Louise that Trudy as the mayor, who often doubled as the bartender. If Louise were to guess, she would pin the middle-aged woman behind the bar as this Trudy person.

Louise stopped next to the woman with the beer. "E-excuse me," she called to the bartender. The bartender gave her a stare as she set the bag of coins on the bar top. Her bandages began to itch. "Um… Doc Mitchell told me to bring this to you, and, uh…"

"Oh, that. Thanks kiddo." Trudy snatched up the bag. "Finally up and about, huh? Figures the Doc would make you start runnin' his errands."

It was really only the one, but Louise didn't correct the woman. "Something like this… it's certainly the _least_ I could do." The presence on the left could no longer be ignored. The woman sitting on the stool had turned, and was giving Louise a rather uncomfortable stare as she leaned in closer and closer. "Um… h-hello?"

The woman, seemingly satisfied, leaned back. "You have _really_ strange eyes. I didn't know maroon was an actual eye color."

"Well… um…" Louise felt a little lost for words. "It must be, since I have them."

"You look a lot better than I thought you would too," the woman went on, taking a generous swing from her beer. "Mitchell must be a damn good doctor."

"I… I suppose he is, yes."

The woman continued to stare her down. "It's good I found you when I did. Mitchell said any longer and you would have been too far gone."

Louise blinked. This person was her other savior? What a perfect coincidence. "W-wait a moment… _you're_ the one who found me? I've been meaning to thank you. What's your name?"

The woman grinned and stuck out her hand. "I'm Siesta."

…

_A/N: Yeeeeah I decided to whip this up. I recently got back into Fallout, and after recently creating a character similar-looking to Louise in New Vegas (thanks to mods of course) my urge to write a story about Louise in the Fallout-verse was rekindled. _

_I also remember somebody reviewing Stalker Zero, and saying they'd like to see that iteration of Siesta in the Fallout-verse. I don't feel like going back and sifting through reviews, since I'm posting this right before I go to work, but it seems like you might just get your wish. _

_If you're not as mod savvy as I am, perhaps you didn't catch that Delilah herself is a modded companion. I'll be including a few more of those._

_Spoilers ahead guys. :D_

_This'll differ from Stalker Zero in a number of ways, which you'll see. I plan on Louise being pretty much the only Halkeginian involved, and this isn't necessarily a reverse-summon. Think of that ring. Louise has been busy back home before she unwittingly ended up in this situation. _

_But in a basic sense, is this going to be the Stalker Zero versions of Louise and Siesta tearing up the Wastes? …Yes._


	2. Chapter 2

_The Wastelander_

_Ain't That a Kick in the Head II_

Delilah had been just about to start breakfast when she heard the knock at her door. She stiffened, instinctively wary. She thought for a moment that it could have been Mitchell, or somebody he sent, looking for help with a patient, but Delilah was immediately filled with doubt. Louise was no longer under Mitchell's care. She was only in the other room, happily snoozing the day away. Mitchell could have taken in another patient, but Delilah doubted that too. She would have known already. The minute that woman had come into town with Louise's limp body in her arms half of Goodsprings had already heard about it.

It was rare for anybody to visit her out of the blue anymore. Before her parents had passed on they had friends here, who came and went all hours of the day. Those were the days Delilah remembered most fondly, when her home was bustling and full of friends. It had given a certain light to the place. After her parents were gone, and it was just her and Sulik left, those family friends had suddenly become distant memories.

Sulik had come with her parents from California before they eventually settled in Goodsprings. Delilah knew that people around here had some dislike for Sulik's tribal nature, but she never understood why. She admired it. She admired Sulik's people, and their ways. Once Delilah had come of age, Sulik had wanted to give her the tattoos all the young braves of his tribe wore. She couldn't have possibly said no to that. Though not much of a warrior, who could fight with spears, bows, and instinct, she felt proud of them all the same.

There was nobody in Goodsprings around Delilah's age. The closest was Sunny, who was nearly ten years her senior, and on top of that Sunny was almost always busy with something. She was always out shooting geckos, keeping them out of the town's well. It was dirty business, but somebody had to do it.

The single-action revolver had belonged to her father, and anybody could tell just from looking at the thing that it had seen its fair share of fights. Thankfully, none of those had yet been at Delilah's hands. She curled her fingers around the ivory grip, and with her thumb she firmly yanked back on the hammer. The click was sure-footed – a deadly promise.

Though, when Delilah opened the door with the revolver hidden behind her back, her wariness washed away. It was just that woman – the one who helped save Louise. "Oh," Delilah remarked, both relieved and genuinely surprised. "It's you."

"Yup. Me." The woman's face remained a mask. Delilah couldn't help feeling squeamish. There was just something so cold in those blue eyes. "You're Delilah, right?"

Delilah shifted awkwardly, nodding. The revolver was still hidden behind her back, and she worried that it might offend the woman outside. "Do you… want to come in?"

"Yeah, sure," The visitor shrugged. Her demeanor seemed friendly enough; it was just those piercing eyes. "As long as you put that gun down. You're freaking me out."

How Delilah had been caught red-handed was completely over her head, though she guessed that having one hand behind her back like she did was a little obvious. Sheepishly, she de-cocked the Colt and set it back down in its place on the small table by the door. The woman was one to talk, though. She swept into Delilah's home with that beast of a rifle strapped to her back.

"I was about to start breakfast," Delilah said, leading the woman to her kitchen. "Do you want any?"

"Oh, no. Thanks though." It came as a surprise to Delilah to see the woman flashing a warm grin. "I already stuffed my face at Trudy's, so I'm all set."

Delilah laughed. She never spent much time at Trudy's since she didn't drink, but she knew how the mayor could be. "I heard she just loves having you around."

"She told me the other day that I was like a disease," the woman mused, plopping down at the dining table. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

The ashtray Delilah's father had once used was still in the middle of the table, though now void of any crushed butts. "Have at it."

"Yeah, Trudy said I was a disease, all because I woke her up looking for a room." The woman scoffed, shaking her head before she lit her smoke. "I mean, honestly, get over yourself. I just like sitting at her bar ordering beers. She hates it."

"Trudy's not so bad," Delilah insisted. She threw on a couple of bighorner patties. "…Most of the time."

The woman snorted. "I think the whole Powder Ganger thing has her on edge."

Delilah remembered what Doc Mitchell had said when she was heading home two evenings ago. "That has everybody on edge."

"I've been telling everybody we should just shoot 'em all. I mean, really. No Powder Gangers, no problem."

It wasn't often Delilah heard such logic, but it wasn't so uncommon in this world. The travellers who happened upon Goodsprings referred to that broad ideal as _wasteland justice_. Wastelanders more often than not believed that if you had yours coming, it was coming at you straight down the barrel of a rifle. Delilah offered the woman a weak grin. "W-well, uh… I can't even hit a barn door."

That got a chuckle out of her visitor. "So where's Louise? The Doc told me to come looking here."

"Still asleep." Delilah shook her head, grinning. "I don't think she's a morning person."

The woman was staring. "So… are you having bighorner burgers for _breakfast?_"

"Hell yeah I am," Delilah told the visitor. "I have whatever I want for breakfast."

Again, the woman laughed. She crushed the spent cigarette in the glass tray, and rose to her feet. "We were talking yesterday at Trudy's. She can't remember anything about surviving in the Wastes."

Delilah paused at the stove. "Really?"

"Yeah, I know right?" The woman turned from the room, heading back for the entryway. "I offered to teach her a few things," she called back, stopping in the hallway. "And she agreed to it. Tell her to meet me around noon, you know, since she's not a morning person."

Such generosity was nothing to scoff at. "Where?"

"Uh." The woman scratched at her head. "You know, like behind the Doc's house, where they have that little shooting range set up against that cliff wall?"

Delilah nodded. She'd been there a few times. "Yeah, of course."

The woman glanced over her shoulder, and gave Delilah a wink. "You can come too, if you want. Maybe you'll finally be able to hit that barn door."

After that, the woman was gone. Delilah stared at where she had just been, mentally cursing. She'd forgotten to get the woman's name. That would have been a good thing to know. The sizzling patties were flipped, and Delilah swiftly made the trip to Louise's room, intent on returning to the stove before their breakfast could burn. It had been Delilah's room before, but after her parents were gone she had taken to sleeping in their bed. Those first nights without them had been the hardest, and longest.

Delilah threw the door open. Louise was still sound asleep, facing away. "Sleepyhead! Breakfast!"

Tiredly, Louise flapped an arm. "Five more minutes," she mumbled.

"It'll be ready in five minutes," Delilah told the sleepy girl. She threw the curtains open, showering the room in light.

Louise pulled the covers up over her head. "Nooo…"

And in turn, Delilah yanked the covers away. Louise had slept in borrowed clothes, a tank top from Delilah's seemingly infinite collection, and a pair of shorts. "Up!"

"Cattleya…" Louise whined, curling into a ball. "Just five more minutes. Please"

Delilah blinked. "Um… no, I'm Delilah."

Suddenly, Louise seemed wide awake. She shot up in the bed, rubbing her eyes. "Who in the world is Cattleya?" She muttered aloud.

"You don't know?"

Louise gave Delilah a flat look before she stood and arched her back in a stretch. "I still have that amnesia, you know."

"Well I thought you might have remembered something," Delilah told her. "Come on. Breakfast is almost ready."

"I can smell it," Louise breathed. She got to milling about the room. "I'll be out in a minute. As soon as I can find my stockings. I threw them over here somewhere…"

Delilah couldn't help but stop in the doorway. "Cattleya is a pretty strange name though."

The strawberry-haired girl hummed as she gathered up her clothing. "I had a dream about her. She seemed nice."

…

Siesta knew she had at least three hours before the girls would show up at the firing range, which gave her plenty of time to haggle Trudy for old sarsaparilla and beer bottles to use as targets. That was the easiest part. Trudy had warmed up over the past few days, but it was still obvious to Siesta that Trudy would much rather see her gone. Siesta wanted to tell the woman that she didn't have to be so bitchy just because she was going through menopause, but that wouldn't do much good.

The next part was much harder, because Louise didn't have a gun. There was next to nothing on the girl's person when Siesta had found her. The only thing truly missing was that stupid black cape. It came free when Siesta had hefted the girl up into her arms, and the wind had taken it to who-knows-where. Siesta's visit to Chet had been unpleasant and awkward. Chet had a meager stock, mostly old surplus ammunition and a few overpriced stimpaks, and it seemed the shopkeeper still remembered when Siesta had venomously told him to go snack on a bag full of male genitals.

But Chet was more than willing to accept Siesta's caps, and the cheap old gun would work well enough in Louise's hands. Where Siesta's sudden generosity had come from was anybody's guess, but she had never been opposed to helping out stranger in need. Besides, it wasn't as if Siesta was short on caps either. Louise could pay her back, perhaps not monetarily, but in some other fashion.

By the time noon rolled around Siesta was waiting at the range, bottles set up, and no girls to be seen. She found a nice warm boulder to perch on, and idly smoked cigarettes to her heart's content. It was half past when the girls finally showed their faces. Siesta heard them coming long before she saw them.

"Why have you brought that?" Such a shrill, accented voice belonged to Louise. "Is it really necessary?"

"Well yeah. Why wouldn't it be?"

"She said she was going to teach us how to survive, didn't she? Not to murder somebody."

A sigh. "I don't really need to be taught how to survive, I got that part down. I just suck at shooting. Dad would never teach me, and Sulik… well he wasn't so great with a gun either."

"So we came here to shoot things?" A tongue clicked in disgust. "Brilliant."

"You need something to defend yourself with, don't you?"

"I-I suppose…"

"Didn't she tell you to bring anything?"

"No! She just said to meet her here."

By now the two girls were nearly upon her. Delilah was sporting an old bolt-action, and had the revolver holstered on a gun belt that hung crooked. The belt was lined with cartridges for her pistol, the brass gleaming in the midday sun, while for the rifle there were spare magazines tucked into a bandolier draped diagonally across her torso.

There was no means of self-defence on Louise's person, but the spurs on those high cowboy boots sure rang with each step. Siesta watched, a broad smirk forming. Louise was so caught up with insisting to Delilah that guns were stupid that she hadn't even noticed she had arrived. The bandages still wrapped around her head, like a bandana, or a sweatband.

Siesta glanced at her watch. "Twelve-thirty," she told them. Louise started with a squeak, but Delilah had seen Siesta a mile off. "You're late for class. Detention."

"Sorry ma'am." Delilah playfully rolled her eyes. "So I never did catch your name, by the way."

"No? I always forget to do that. Bad habit," Siesta told her. "I'm Siesta."

Delilah smiled. "That's a pretty name," she remarked. "Does it mean anything?"

"Sure does. It means afternoon nap."

Upon learning that, Delilah's face went blank. Louise, however, raised an eyebrow. "Your name means afternoon nap?"

Siesta nodded. "Yup."

"Honestly?"

"I shit you not," Siesta insisted, and Louise cringed at the language. "I think my parents picked it 'cause they thought it sounded nice. I didn't learn what it meant until I was flipping through a Spanish dictionary one day. I never laughed so hard in my life, but I think it's kind of fitting. I like naps."

Louise wasn't averse to the occasional nap either, but she wouldn't go as far as to name a child after one. "…I see."

Siesta got straight down to business. "Lesson one." She pointed to Louise's legs. "Get rid of that."

Craning her head downward, Louise was at a loss. "Get rid of what? My legs?"

"No, the skirt. It doesn't work. Get some pants."

Louse's face folded in on itself out of disgust. "Pants? You mean trousers?"

"I'm wearing pants, aren't I?" Siesta pointed out. Her blue jeans were form-fitting, and faded to sky blue. "And Delilah's… sort of wearing pants."

Delilah shrugged. "Jean shorts."

"Yeah. Pretty much the same thing," Siesta agreed.

The strawberry-haired amnesiac heaved a sigh. "Yes but –"

"I can loan you some pants," Delilah cut in tiredly. "I have tons."

But Louise wasn't finished just yet. She crossed her arms defiantly. "I don't see any problem with my skirt."

Siesta smirked. "Oh you'll see a problem once there's a sand storm and two pounds of the stuff gets up in your twat."

Making a face, Delilah nodded. "Yeah that really sucks. We can take care of the pants later, right?"

"Yeah, yeah." Siesta seemed to be in full agreement. She started towards the range, beckoning for the two girls to follow. She had marked off an approximation of fifty yards already, which would serve just fine. It wasn't her intention to teach the girls how to be snipers. They only needed to know enough to be dangerous, the rest they could pick up on their own. "That'd take forever. I was already waiting for like, forty friggin' minutes."

"You can blame Louise for that," Delilah pointed out teasingly. "I had to change her bandages."

"Oh I'm _terribly_ sorry," Louise mock-apologized, scowling. "I shall do my utmost not get shot in the head again. It pains me to inconvenience you."

Siesta stopped, flashing a grin. "Let's hope so, because you probably won't be so lucky the next time."

"Agreed."

"Now, on to lesson two." Siesta had taken notice of Delilah's flicking gaze. The Goodsprings native had already taken note of the second rifle in Siesta's possession, and the extra belt of cartridges looped over her shoulder. Siesta stomped the lever-action's butt against the hardpan. "This is a rifle." She forced the gun into Louise's unwitting hands. "Here you go."

Louise, surprised at the weight, and doubly surprised at being giving such a destructive device so willy-nilly, glanced about with nervousness in her eyes. "W-w-what do you mean? This thing seems strange…"

One of Delilah's eyebrows ascended. "…How is it strange? First my guns are weird, and now this one is too? Did you completely forget what guns are?"

"A-apparently!" Louise squeaked. She pointed to the rifle on Siesta's back as the wastelander turned towards the range. It was a fantastically ugly thing. "A-and that! It's hideous!"

Siesta regarded the AR-10 on her back, and shrugged. "I think it's badass."

"…I don't even know what that means."

"Just hold on a sec. Stick your arm out. No, no, you're right-handed, aren't you? The other one." Siesta dressed Louise in the leather bandolier, full to the brim with live cartridges. Siesta didn't think it was heavy at all, but Louise seemed a little uncomfortable in it. "That's rifle's an old Winchester. Um… a Model 94 I think."

Delilah leaned in to eye the cartridges, but found herself looking down the Model 94's barrel when Louise turned. With the back of her hand, Delilah gently moved it away, and continued leaning in. "Try not to point that at my face."

The other girl was squeamish. Her cheeks flushed. "S-sorry."

Despite just having a muzzle in her face, Delilah was rather nonplussed. "You don't think .30-30 is too much?"

From the look on Siesta's face it was obvious even she was unsure of that. "It was really all I could get. The thing's a beater, so I got it on the cheap. Besides, the only other half-decent thing there was some old hunting rifle, and that thing was a .308."

Delilah made a wince. "That would definitely be too much."

"Yeah," Siesta agreed. "And the thing weighed a ton anyways." She pointed towards Delilah's rifle. "What's yours?"

"Ah, it's only a .223."

Siesta shrugged. "Enough to bring down a man, at least."

Louise glanced between the two girls, lost. Such terminology went straight over her head. "What are you people talking about?"

Siesta flapped a hand and moved over onto Louise's right. "So let's get started then, hm?"

"I don't even know how to use this thing!" Louise hissed. She held the weapon gingerly, with her fingers as far away from the trigger as possible. "I've never shot a gun before!"

Siesta laughed. "How do you know?"

She was caught there. "I-I just know! I don't even want to do this!"

"Now, now, stop being such a pussy," Siesta chided. She forced Louise's right hand to where it should be. "Get your fingers in the lever loop. To operate this thing you have to move the lever down, and then back up."

The oblong loop her fingers had been forced through must have been this lever Siesta was yammering about. Louise struggled to move it at first. The lever was stiff, almost as if it had been set into place. "I don't…"

"Don't baby the thing. You're not supposed to be gentle."

"I don't want to break it!" Louise reasoned.

"You won't."

Giving it her all, Louise forced the lever down as far as it could go. If it broke in her hands, the blame could go to Siesta. The metal dug into her fingers, annoying, but not yet painful. Surprised, Louise noticed that the top of the gun had slid backward with an oily metallic _shlink_, exposing its innards to the world. What was that hole? Was that really the other end of the barrel?

"That… is that supposed to happen?" Louise asked. Siesta and Delilah were both laughing. Were they getting a kick out of this? Louise would give them both a _kick _if they wanted one. Then again, Siesta and Delilah were helping her out a great deal, even if it didn't feel like it. Louise was resigned to being laughed at for the time being, something she loathed, and felt strangely familiar with.

"Yeah," Siesta told her. "Now pull it back up."

When she yanked the lever back to its original place the top of the gun slid forward. It was much easier to pull the lever up than it had been to push it downward. What sort of thing was this supposed to be? A gun wasn't like this, was it? Didn't you just pour powder and shot down the barrel? Louise regarded the belt of draped across her torso. What were _those_ meant for?

Louise gave the lever several more throws. Surprisingly, it was much easier to work it now than it had been before. Why was that? The mechanism in this thing seemed so incredibly complicated to her. How was somebody supposed to even create something like this?

"Why exactly am I doing this… lever thing?"

Siesta and Delilah both blinked. "To cycle the gun?" The former offered. "Do you have _any_ idea how a gun works?"

Refusing to answer was the best option. Louise wasn't keen on looking totally daft once again.

"Anyway," Siesta continued. "We can start by loading the thing. You push the cartridges through the loading gate. That gun can hold six of them."

Louise eyed over the gun. "The… what?"

"There, on the right side." Siesta pointed. Impatience began to leak into her tone. "Take one of the cartridges from your belt, and push it in nose first."

Did Siesta mean that belt she had been forced into? Louise looked down at the gleaming brass tubes surrounding her body from shoulder to waist. Were these the so-called 'cartridges'? Plucking one from the belt it was obvious which end was the nose. The brass narrowed in a bottleneck, where a darker rust-coloured metal began – copper. Lead was exposed at the nose, which ended a broad and flat tip.

The loading gate Siesta had referred to was easily found. Louise tested it by first poking a finger through. It was merely hinged door, held closed with a spring.

"Push it forward," Siesta told her, seeing how long she was taking. "Like, towards the muzzle end."

Louise gestured forward with the cartridge. "This way?"

"Yes, Louise," Siesta said, tapping her foot. "That way."

Throwing caution to the wind, Louise forced the nose of the cartridge through the door and jammed it forward. Resistance was met, and Louise took her thumb away from the rear of the cartridge before it was fully seated. It sprung free and landed at her feet. Louise squeaked in surprise.

Delilah and Siesta both groaned. "What did I say about being gentle?" Siesta said.

The cartridge was scavenged from the ground. Louise glared. "I thought this was different!"

"No. Just shove it in!"

Delilah erupted in a bout of stifled giggles. "That's what she said!"

Realizing the context her words could have been taken in, Siesta pinched at her nose. She couldn't help but let out a few quiet chuckles all the same. Louise's face, however, was blank. "I don't get it," she said.

"Forget it," Siesta told her tiredly. How couldn't she have gotten that? "Just load the thing."

Putting that aside, Louise forced the cartridge through the gate and into the magazine as far as her thumb would reach. The gate snapped closed when she took her thumb away, which to her seemed to mean the cartridge was safely inside. This amalgamation of scuffed metal and sun-bleached wood suddenly felt a whole lot more dangerous.

"Put the next one in behind it. Just do that until there's six in there," Siesta said to the strawberry-haired girl, who meekly nodded in affirmation. Next, Siesta turned her attention to the still grinning Delilah. "Alright. You already know how to use that, right?"

Delilah nodded. "Yeah, totally."

"Point it downrange."

When she did, Siesta immediately noticed Delilah's problem. Siesta was never a firm believer in 'stance', especially under the reasoning of the person who had taught her to shoot, and to fight. Stance implied that you were standing out in the open, which was a terrible idea in an actual gunfight. "Spread your feet and lean forward a little bit."

"Lean forward?"

Siesta mimicked gripping a pistol with both hands, and forced her spine to crane backwards. It was hardwired in her body to not do such a thing. "You've got this kind of thing going on. If you lean forward you'll take the recoil better. Stand a little sideways since the stock is so long. And keep your arm down, chicken wing. Nobody wants to smell your stanky pits."

Forcing her elbow down, Delilah made a face. Having her arm up high was an artifact left over when Sulik had taught her to shoot a bow. It was just habit. Perhaps the same thing simply didn't apply with firearms.

Fifty yards wasn't exactly a huge distance, but it made those bottles small targets. Delilah fired, and was dismayed to see a cloud of dust thrown up just beyond the bottle she had sighed in.

Before Delilah could even mutter a curse at her failure, Louise squealed out in surprise, fumbling cartridges out of her hand. Siesta gave her a look, raising an eyebrow. "You alright over there?"

"That was loud!" Louise cried. "Bloody hell, you frightened me half to death!"

Siesta's face was flat, as was her tone. "Oh yeah. Guns are loud. I forgot to mention."

"I knew guns were loud," Louise growled indignantly, retrieving the two dropped cartridges from the ground. "I just didn't know they were _that_ loud!"

Delilah scratched the back of her head, apparently sheepish. "You sort of get used to it."

"I certainly hope so," Louise grumbled, fingering the second to last cartridge into the magazine. "Because if I don't I'll be deaf before the week is done."

The final cartridge met the most resistance, but Louise had met success in loading the rifle. It felt like such a strange object in her hands. The weight of all the cartridges under the barrel was noticeable, but it didn't make the weapon unbearably heavy. Louise had been surprised at its weight initially, but at the same time it was much lighter than she truly anticipated.

Delilah fired her gun again, and Louise couldn't help but jump. The gunshot was so sharp and piercing; her eardrums throbbed and rang as the echo tapered off. Louise honestly expected a much larger cloud of smoke and flame to be thrown out of the rather skinny barrel, but it wasn't so. There was only a mere whiff of white smoke, which caught the breeze and disappeared almost immediately. It was jarring to hear such noise, and see such little cause.

"Don't snatch the trigger so hard," Siesta was telling the Goodsprings native. "Just gently squeeze through it. Hold your breath while you're aiming, and let it out when you're pulling the trigger. The gun firing _should_ be a surprise."

That all sounded relatively simple to Louise, so she tried her own hand at it. She kept her feet apart, her arm down, and held her breath. Nervously, she began to force the trigger through its pull as she pushed the air out of her lungs. It felt gritty under her finger, like two rough surfaces being forced to travel against one another. There was a hollow click that made Louise start, and nothing else.

It caught Siesta's attention, at least. "What happened?"

Louise flinched as Delilah fired again. The other girl whooped as a bottle met its doom. "I-I don't know," Louise admitted. "It just went _click_."

"You tried to fire?"

"Obviously!"

Siesta sighed. "Did you put one in the chamber?"

"…Huh?"

"Remember what I told you?" Siesta asked pointedly. "About the lever? Did you do that?"

It had completely slipped her mind. The moment the first cartridge had entered through the loading gate Louise was convinced the slightest movement would cause it to go off. "…I did not."

Another shot from Delilah's gun. There was a solid metal-on-metal _clacking_ as she cycled the action. "Do it now," Siesta told her. "And it'll be ready to go."

Louise jacked down on the lever, and noticed something different than the first time she had done it. One of the gleaming brass cartridges sat waiting, caught up in the guts of the gun.

"See?" Siesta said, pointing. "The round's in the lifter, just pull the lever up and it'll chamber."

The top of the gun slid forward as Louise slowly brought the lever up, pushing the cartridge forward into the black maw that must have been the chamber. Now the rifle _really_ felt dangerous, and no doubt it was.

"There are a few rules when handling a gun," Siesta began, striking a lecturing pose that Louise swore she had seen somewhere before. "Don't point it at anybody you don't intend to kill, always treat it like it's loaded, and," Siesta reached in and yanked Louise's finger out of the trigger guard, "keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot. Just keep those things in mind and you won't have any accidents."

Those things offered Louise some amount of comfort. Siesta might have seemed a little haphazard in the way she did things, but at least she could be halfway responsible. The last thing Louise wanted to do was inadvertently cause an innocent grievous harm with a gun. In fact, she wasn't so keen on the idea of shooting anybody at all.

"Now bring it up," Siesta told her. "Let's see what you got goin' on." Much to her surprise, Siesta discovered that Louise had at least been listening in when she was talking with Delilah. It made things easier, for sure. If Louise was a quick learner, it was all the better. That being said, Louise hadn't suddenly become a skilled markswoman just from idle eavesdropping. Siesta could already pick out a couple of errors. Louise was leaning back, if only a little, and the butt of the Model 94 didn't seem to be seated all the way into her shoulder. Siesta forced the gun into place. "Keep the gun tight against your shoulder, if you don't it'll hammer the crap out of you."

Louise had thought that since the gun was obviously going to come back her way, it would be better if it were further from her flesh, rather than resting on it. Though, when she considered it, Siesta's advice did make a grain of sense.

"These sights are pretty simple," Siesta went on, and for a moment Louise had no idea what she meant. "I already zeroed the thing this morning, so it should be right on. The rear sight has a v-notch, so just line up the front blade and you're good to go."

The things Siesta mentioned were odd and foreign to Louise, but they weren't hard to understand. Midway down the length of the gun a thin piece of metal jutted up from the barrel. In it, a small 'v' shape was cut. Further down the gun, at the very end of the barrel, a thin metal blade stretched up. Suddenly, it clicked, and then it was all very simple. Line those two things up, and that was where your gun was pointing.

Louise used the advice she had heard already, and lined up a random bottle. She held her breath as she steadied the rifle, and exhaled through her nostrils as her shaking finger began to travel through the trigger pull.

Nervousness got the better of her, and with a sudden twitch, the gun went off. It recoiled harder than Louise was expecting, and a jolt of pain shot through her shoulder. Her ears became muffled and rang with what might have passed for indignance. The lever gun was certainly louder that Delilah's.

"Ow!" Louise cried. She took one hand from the gun wiggled it about in her ear, hoping the drive the ringing away. "That hurts!"

"What did? You shoulder or your ears?"

Louise could barely make out Siesta's words, but she managed to catch them anyway. "Both of them!"

Siesta was laughing as Louise's hearing came back. It didn't help that just as her ears settled, Delilah fired again. "Good job," Siesta commented.

Surprised, Louise glanced over the bottles. "…I hit it?"

"No," Siesta admitted cheekily. "But you didn't fall on your ass, so we're off to a good start. Come on, run your lever, and try again."

Forcing the lever down, Louise was surprised to find the remains of the cartridge jumping out at her through a puff of acrid smoke. The twirling brass tube nearly pecked her on the nose before gravity took over, and it fell uselessly to the ground.

Louise stared. "Did I do that right?"

"Uh, yeah?"

Nevertheless, she bent over to inspect what had leapt from the gun. The brass tube was missing something – the copper and lead nose. Louise meant to pick it up, but it was hot to the touch. Immediately, she dropped it away with a squeak.

"Never mind the empty case," Siesta chided. "Just cycle the next round in."

Pulling the lever up, the next cartridge was loaded into the chamber. Louise took aim, and tried to put an end to one of the evil bottles downrange. She jerked the trigger again, and the rifle bucked.

"Ow!"

…

The better part of an afternoon passed that way, with Siesta forcing Louise through what felt like a death-defying slog. By four o'clock none of the bottles were left standing, and Louise's ropy arms felt like two useless slugs. Her shoulder had gotten the worst of it – bruised in splotches of purple.

Louise had shockingly found that the weapon forced into her hands wasn't to be returned to Siesta. It was being given to her. Denying it up and down came naturally, not only because she didn't want the gun, but also for the simple fact that she'd already been given so much since waking up in Doc Mitchell's house. Two beds, food, clothing, and above all those things, her life. All of it had been free.

That evening's dinner was on Siesta, as she proudly proclaimed, who suggested they go to Trudy's and torment the poor woman by making her cook for them. Louise had only met Trudy once and the middle-aged bartender seemed pleasant enough, and Delilah insisted she was on good terms with the woman. It was in Louise's head that Trudy didn't like Siesta just because Siesta had taken to being insufferable for her own amusement.

As it turned out, Trudy didn't turn into some monster and gnaw Siesta's head off like Louise had anticipated. She happily accepted the strange-looking silver coins Siesta handed over, and served them a decent meal.

While she ate, Louise felt a sour feeling coarse through her. She insisted that Siesta had already done so much for her after saving her life, and then teaching her to shoot a rifle, even if she wasn't so thrilled about the latter. Being_ given_ the rifle was the cherry on top. It was too much. All of this generosity was beginning to make her like some kind of freeloader. That was when Siesta, with a wide grin, told Louise that she could pay it back no problem, starting tomorrow.

So Louise ended up sorely wishing she had just kept her big fat mouth closed. Who knew what kind of things could be conjured up in the dark corners of this strange person's mind? She reassured herself, because Siesta had saved her life, so she couldn't have been _that_ bad.

"Did you pay for another room tonight?" Delilah asked during the midst of their meal. "It must be getting expensive."

Siesta flapped a hand. "Not yet," she said with her mouth full. "I'll do it after we eat."

"You can stay at my house," Delilah offered, shrugging. "It might be a saggy old couch, but hey, it's a free saggy old couch."

Leaning back in the booth, Siesta paused for a moment, and then grinned. "You know what? I think I'll do that."

…

_Louise was walking, and everything around her seemed both incredibly strange and familiar at the same time. It was a jarring feeling, like being pulled in two directions at once. The passageway was stone, open on both sides in spaced, broad archways, letting the warm midday breeze sweep through. It curled through her hair, and ruffled the heavy mantle hanging from her shoulders. There were other people, dressed the same as she. Nobody would even look at her. _

_Out of control was how she felt. It was frightening in a way, as if somebody had taken control of her body and she was forced to see events unfold through her eyes. At the same time she felt annoyed, upset, and frustrated with herself. Something happened. She'd done something wrong. _

_Then, she heard it. "Louise the Zero! Now I get it!"_

_Out of the corner of her eye she could see the offender in question, but only just. Her eyes had flicked for a moment, and she barely caught a glimpse of the raven-haired teen, wearing an odd white and blue hooded coat. _

_"That's just perfect!" He said again, sounding proud and smug. "Rate of success is zero, but a noble despite that. Wonderful!"_

_Louise was forced to seethe against her will. There was nothing she could do. Her fists became trembling balls. _

_"Transmutation! Ah! Kaboom! Transmutation! Ah! Kaboom! Oh, I screwed up! Only 'the Zero' screws this up!"_

_The infuriating buffoon started skipping around her in circles, like some kind of stupid jester. She could imagine a stupid hat on his head, bells ringing with each bounce. Somehow, a steel collar and short chain seemed an appropriate addition. _

_Suddenly, the idiot stopped. "Mistress Louise. This humble familiar has made a song for you." _

_Then the idiot bowed his head respectfully, but of course, it was an empty gesture – a complete mockery. Louise could feel her eyebrow twitching out of control, and a heat rising to her cheeks. She was going to blow her top at any moment. The words escaped her mouth without her consent. "W-w-why don't you go ahead and sing it?"_

_"Lou-Lou-Louise is such a hopeless case~ A magician that can't even use magic! But that's all right! Because she's a girl…"_

_The song was stupid beyond comprehension. Louise didn't know how it would qualify for falling under the term. The idiot's sudden gust of laughter was what jolted her. He was laughing at his own stupid joke. How hopeless was that?_

Louise shot upright, feeling all the frustration and anger lingering from her dream. Without hesitation, she let out a long screech that could have passed for some sort of animalistic growl. She pounded her fist against the mattress as hard as she could.

"Stupid!"

Hit.

"Dog!"

Hit.

"Stupid!"

Her fist stalled in the air, and it wasn't only because the swelling sensation of her headache returned in force, exacerbated by her screaming and hitting – she honestly had no idea what she was doing. Who was that person? Did actually he call her a magician? Her certainly called her Zero, and was happy doing it. The thought of that made her bristle all over again. She chalked it up to yet another odd dream.

The pain was a dull, throbbing ache that seemed to encompass her entire skull. She remembered the pills at her bed side, and the glass of water waiting next to it, but right now all she could do was grimace and cradle her head.

It was only a matter of seconds before the door flew open, smacking hard against the wall as Siesta charged in with her pistol ready, wearing jeans and a grimy old white t-shirt. Blinking, she lowered the gun. "What the hell is going on?"

Louise downed the pills and chased them with water before anything else, yearning for their effects. The pills would take at least five or ten minutes to kick in yet, so until then she was forced to endure. "I had a weird dream."

A barely audible click came from Siesta's pistol before she jammed it into the holster hanging from her belt. "I thought you were getting attacked or something," Siesta told her, blowing out a sigh of relief. "You were yelling 'stupid dog', weren't you?"

Easing her feet to the floor, Louise groaned. "I honestly don't know where that came from. It… it just sort of came out." Then, she noticed something suspicious on her thin covers. "Where did these come from?"

Siesta gazed over the pair of jeans. One of the knees was a little torn up, revealing the white fibers beneath. "The pants? Delilah threw them on you before she left. Didn't you hear her talking to you?"

Louise blinked. "No?"

"She said they should fit you. You even replied!"

"What did I say?"

"Well you told her you'd try 'em on."

When or how that exchange had occurred was beyond Louise. A pang of fear struck for a moment, thinking she might be losing short term memory, but it vanished quickly. Louise felt familiarity in believing that she wasn't a morning person. "Delilah left? Where did she go?"

"One of the little kids in town got it good from some geckos," Siesta explained, her voice filled with hate. "Little bastards are everywhere."

Louise frowned. "That's horrible."

An agreeable hum was Siesta's response for that. "Now try on those pants and see if they fit. We got some stuff to do today."

"Hey!" Louise called as Siesta vanished from the doorway. "What about breakfast?"

"It won't be the last time you skip it!"

Grumbling, Louise heaved herself to her feet. The headache was still warring inside her. She wondered, why skip the most important meal if ample supplies were waiting in the kitchen? Once that thought crossed her mind, Louise felt a little bad for so willingly eating up Delilah's food.

The pants felt a little heavy as she lifted them, definitely more so than her skirt and leggings. Louise had to pee, and relieving herself seemed like a better idea before she became trapped in these dastardly trousers. Though, she reconsidered when she remembered that Delilah didn't have such a room like Doc Mitchell had, with the strange chamber pot and other, startlingly convenient, amenities. If Louise wanted to pursue such bodily functions, she had to go outside and visit the horrors of the outhouse.

Louise shuffled into the trousers, dancing as she wriggled them up over her hips. It was an odd motion, and she had the distinct impression she truly hadn't ever done this before. The trousers were tight around her thighs, but loose past her calves. They were disturbingly uncomfortable, and Louise had no idea how she was going to survive the day like this. Her legs were already sweating.

She left the room, forgoing her shirt for the time being. It was sweltering enough even in this 'tank top', and she already had a sour odor going. Her only consolation was that everybody else did too. Siesta was found in Delilah's sitting room, shrugging on her coat. Louise couldn't imagine wearing such a thing in this weather.

"Do they look right?" Louise asked awkwardly.

Siesta looked, her beastly rifle hanging in one hand. She smirked. "You left the barn door open."

"The what?"

"Here," Siesta reached forward. "Zip this –"

Louise leapt back, squealing. Her face had become beet red. "W-w-w-where do you think you're reaching!?"

"You left your fly open!" Siesta reasoned. "Relax! I wasn't trying to jam my fingers up your cooch!" That served only to make Louise look even more horrified. Siesta let out a groan. "Just get the rest of your stuff and let's _go_."

…

The road that led out of town was a lonely strip etched into the hardpan, descending to a wide pass with jagged rock walls on either side. Already, even before leaving the dubious safety that Goodsprings offered, Louise was huffing away under the scorching sun. The heat was unbearable, and the rifle weighed a ton in her arms.

While they trudged along under the lingering eyes of the town's populace, an odd figure met them along the main drag. Siesta didn't even bat an eye, but Louise stopped dead in her tracks. It was a hulking monstrosity, clad in faded blue paint that flaked away to reveal patches of cancerous rust. Rolling along on a single wheel, it bobbed and weaved almost as if it were actually walking, swinging its curvaceous tube-like arms pointlessly. The center of its torso had a strange fat window, displaying a black and white caricature of a man's head in a wide-brimmed hat, gnawing on a length of grass nipped in the corner of his mouth.

It completely ignored Siesta, and she did the same to it, but the disturbingly alien being regarded Louise as it caught her stare. The thing waved one of its arms. "Howdy partner!" It greeted jovially, casting out a tinny voice that ground on the ears.

Louise watched it go, utterly lost for words. Her eyes remained locked on the metal monster's back, and her mind raced to rationalize what she had just seen. It was completely unlike anything… ever.

"Louise," Siesta called from ahead. "You're lagging!"

It was a brief jog to catch up, and Louise couldn't keep quiet. "What was that thing?" She hissed with wide eyes.

Siesta gazed over her shoulder. "You mean Victor? He's just some robot that hangs around town."

That was that, it seemed. Siesta whirled around and continued on. Louise shot the shrinking figure another series of hurried glances, and followed Siesta along the cracked and pitted road. The only question floating in the strawberry-haired girl's head was _what the hell is a robot?_ It seemed friendly enough, crying out with that happy-sounding greeting, but for some reason the robot only managed to give Louise the creeps. Goodsprings was such a strange town.

The homes thinned as the road swept gently to the right. Most of the small houses looked normal, completely intact, while others were ghastly skeletal remains, if they hadn't been flattened to the earth and forgotten. There were oblong silver carriages hidden amongst them, gleaming in the morning sun.

A sign came next, swinging with the wind on a set of chains. It read, _Goodsprings_. Was this where the town ended? There weren't any more buildings. "Siesta," Louise probed. "Where exactly are we going?"

"It's just a little place out of town," Siesta informed her. She brought up her arm and gazed at the strange gauntlet. Louise had thought little of it at first – merely another strange garment in a stranger place – but her curiosity was caught when she noticed the bold green lines through the little window. While Siesta fiddled with the thing, the lines changed. "I made a note of it on my map, but I haven't gotten the chance to check it out yet. Sunny told me it's infested with geckos."

Louise felt the moisture leave her mouth, remembering Siesta's passing mention of geckos before leaving Delilah's house. "Should we really go to such a place?"

"Why not? That's why we brought guns – for the geckos."

"S-Siesta!" Louise whined. She pushed her muscles, matching the other girl's pace. The gauntlet was back at Siesta's side, and its window had gone black. What in the world was that thing? "I've only just shot a gun yesterday for the first time! You cannot expect me to go and slay these creatures with you!"

Siesta laughed. "Experience is the best teacher. Besides, geckos are stupid. They run right at you in a straight line, and you owe me the help anyway, remember?"

Defeated, Louise fell back into silence. She pushed her long sleeves up past her elbows and unclasped the blouse's uppermost buttons in a vain attempt to combat the heat. The constricting pants weren't helping her case. The only things around now were the whipping sands and withered shrubs. Alongside the road were evenly spaced wooden poles supporting the thick black ropes that drooped above their heads. Some of them had broken free, hanging to the ground like limp noodles

The road began to dip beyond the next crest, and Louise saw the world open up in a wide valley. Far ahead, what must have added up to several miles away, she could see buildings through the shimmering and distorted air. They were huge, squat things. The largest was surrounded by a complex, swooping structure.

"That's Primm down that way," Siesta said without prompt, answering the question Louise had been about to ask.

"A town?"

Siesta nodded, and her eyes seemed to catch something off to the left. "Yeah, but I haven't been there." There was no warning as she veered away from the road. "Hold on, I gotta check this out."

There was no choice but to follow. "What is it?" Louise queried tensely. She shifted the rifle, and held it in a far-more prepared grip.

Following Siesta's finger, Louise noticed it half-buried in the sand. Doc Mitchell had such a contraption that kept all of his food and beverages cool. The only thing Louise thought to compare it with was an icebox. This particular one was an ugly green color, faded and bleached by the pounding sun, and lacked a door.

"I didn't notice this thing on my way in," Siesta announced. "It _was_ kind of dark though. And I was carrying you."

"Why are we –" Then, Louise saw it. Inside the refrigerator were bones – a person's bones. She halted in place, stomach curdling. "Oh God…"

Siesta was unperturbed at the sight of the remains and carelessly yanked on a boot, coming away with the entire foot. She clicked her tongue. "Nothing here – oh! Wait a sec…"

"Stop that!" Louise hissed, keeping her distance. "Leave it alone!"

An old hat was Siesta's reward for her pilfering. What little flesh remained on the corpse was shrivelled and dried-out, flaking away at the lightest touch. She flapped the fedora, and Louise swore she saw some old clumps of hair fall out of it. "You want this? I'm not a hat girl."

Louise balked at the idea. "No!" She squealed. "It was touching a d-d-dead person! That's disgusting!"

"He won't miss it," Siesta reasoned. "If you want you can clean it."

"I don't care!"

Shrugging, Siesta tossed the hat and it curved through the air, spinning. "Suit yourself. Man… I hope I don't get stuffed into some old fridge when I die."

Louise followed on in silence, disturbed by the encounter. Siesta didn't follow the road any longer. Instead, she cut straight across into a maze of lifeless sand and massive rock formations. It was only moments later when Louise discovered she was wrong. There had been a road here once upon a time, but now nearly all of it was buried. The wooden poles had split off, with their strange ropes. Louise realized that they weren't necessarily following the road. They were following these poles. What was with this place? Somehow it all felt so old.

The twisting path through the rocks wasn't exactly narrow, but it made Louise feel claustrophobic all the same. It was all quiet, other than her jingling spurs and the occasional rattle from her rifle. She kept her only means of self-defence gripped tight in her small, child-like hands. Could she really use this thing? If some animal came dashing towards them, would she really have the heart to callously put a bullet through it?

Having next to no confidence wasn't a big help. A million ways for things to go wrong flashed through Louise's mind. The trigger would be too heavy to pull, she wouldn't throw the lever far enough, she would miss, again and again until all six shots were gone, and then the gun was about as useful as a stick.

They could hear the creatures, but not see them. The ghostly bleat came with the breeze, chopping through the air in a staccato beat. Louise froze, and her hands squeezed the rifle so hard she thought it might bend under the pressure. It hit her that this gun would be her only saviour, this hateful thing crafted only to kill, and how well that worked depended solely on her.

Siesta had stopped too, and shot a glance over her shoulder. "Geckos," she said. "Let's keep moving."

"Th-this is stupid!" Louise hissed, jogging to catch up. "We should leave!"

Nothing came from Siesta in way of response. She just continued to march on with that ugly rifle lazily resting against her shoulder. Around the next bend the rocks mercifully widened out into a large flat area. Here there were more of those wooden poles spaced around in an even pattern, and around them were half-buried metal husks of more strange contraptions. They were massive things, their insides eaten away by scavengers, and the elements.

At the far end of the lot was a fair sized stone building that seemed to be set against the high rock walls themselves. It was an unfriendly looking place without a single window on its facia. There must have been a sign above the front doors once, but almost all the letters were missing.

Louise stared at the foreboding structure. "Where are we?"

"This is Sunnytime Cigarettes," Siesta announced proudly. "Well, at least it _was_ about two-hundred-and-ten years ago."

"Two-hundred…" A gust swept past, kicking up sand and tossing Louise's hair. Already, she knew it was going to be every nook and cranny when she got back into town. "What happened?"

Siesta gave her a look, and a shrug. "War."

"War?"

Honestly, Louise would have liked some more explanation about that one, but Siesta seemed to have opted out. They trudged ahead, weaving a serpent-like path through the wide lot where the sand drifts were at their lowest. Louise thought it was almost like stomping through deep snow, although much warmer, and much more annoying. Why was there so much sand in this spot? Everywhere else was almost exclusively hardpan and dirt.

They passed alongside one of the rusted husks, and Louise almost ran her fingers over its surface, wondering. Was this supposed to be some kind of carriage? It looked so strange, and it must have weighed a million pounds if it were made completely from metal like this. She nearly walked right into Siesta's back.

"I think I see a body," Siesta said lowly. "Shit."

Louise felt the pang in her guts. "Where?

"Over by the doors, look." Siesta pointed, and following the finger, Louise could plainly see the figure of a man face down in the sand. Leveling her rifle towards the corpse, Siesta moved ahead. "Come on."

"Why are we going over there?" Louise hissed. Her feet were locked to the ground. "I don't want to see it! Let's leave!"

Siesta stopped. "It won't hurt you," she said. "Well, I mean, that is if he's actually dead. I ran into these guys once that used to play dead before they ambushed you. That really freaked me out."

"Why would you tell me that?" Louise cried, eyes round. "That's brilliant! Just make it worse!"

Groaning, Siesta pushed forward. "I'll check him."

Louise watched, hanging back. She wanted to urge Siesta to leave this place that seemed so full of ill omens. Undoubtedly, Siesta would not heed such words without good reason, and Louise's flipping guts weren't good enough reason at all. Louise bit her lip, and her breath hitched as Siesta rolled the body over onto its back.

She grimaced. "He's dead alright," Siesta called. "Come on over!"

"No!" Louise called back.

"Louise! You owe it to me!"

"I don't!" Louise insisted, balking. "This g-g-goes far beyond that!"

"Not around here it doesn't!"

A low, frustrated groan escaped Louise's lips. Tentatively, she inched forward through the boiling sand drifts. The man was wearing an old grey shirt and trousers the same as hers. His face was ghastly pale, sunken, and dried out. It was the first time Louise had truly seen a dead person, unless of course, she was forgetting something.

Louise's gaze drifted down to the savage tears across his thigh, and her churning stomach got a whole lot worse. Something had clawed and bitten him like no tomorrow. The blood had dried and caked on to his trousers. There was even some on the metal doors, smeared haphazardly. Louise took a step back, not about to vomit, but feeling close. She tried to keep her eyes away.

"Geckos got him," Siesta observed, crouched. "He must have shut this door behind him and bled out, trying to get away." She noticed something near where his hand had been before, and extracted it from the sand. It was an old semi-automatic handgun, slide locked rearward on an empty magazine.

Siesta had seen these old Brownings everywhere. Dime a dozen guns, but they worked no matter what you threw at them, and that was the main thing. The body was fresh enough, and the gun hadn't rusted and seized up from exposure yet. She flipped the slide release with her thumb and it snapped forward audibly. Louise visibly started from the sound alone.

"What's that?" Louise inquired. Her nose seemed to shrivel. "A gun?"

"His gun," Siesta told her. "Look, he doesn't need it anymore, so you might as well take it."

Louise gaped at the notion. "I-I don't want a dead man's gun!"

Sighing, Siesta ignored the protest and began scavenging several essentials from the man's corpse. Louise would need them, whether she liked it or not. The strawberry-haired girl was beginning to remind Siesta of some innocent kid who had just ventured out of their vault's door for the first time. Bad memories.

She slid the gun belt from the man's waist, along with the empty holster and spare magazines. Siesta had her own pistol as well, but the Browning was a 9mm, and her gun was a .45. Louise wouldn't come across ample spare magazines and ammunition until she was back in town. "Here," Siesta said, holding out the belt. "Put this on."

"I don't –"

"Louise!" Siesta cut in. "Just shut up and put on the dead guy's belt, alright? It's not a big deal. People do this all the time."

"That doesn't make it right!"

Siesta's face was flat. "Since you obviously don't remember, the Wasteland is a pretty shitty place. Get used to it." She resorted to throwing the belt, which Louise hastily caught. "Now put it on."

Red-faced and seething through with anger, Louise begrudgingly laid her rifle against the side of the building and began feeding the belt through the loops around her waist. Siesta helped her position the holster and leather pouches, which she hated, and made sure everything was put together correctly.

Siesta brought up the pistol, holding a full magazine scavenged from the corpse. "So this is a semi-automatic pistol. It'll fire every time you pull the trigger, until the magazine runs empty. When that happens you hit this button here, and the empty mag drops out. Put in the next one, and then get a good grip on the slide and rack it." She demonstrated, by releasing the empty magazine, jamming in the new one, and tugging the slide. The gun was loaded. "When it's empty the slide should lock open, so that makes racking it easier. Don't bother trying to hit the slide release when you're in a fight, it'll cause you more grief than anything else. Just rack the side."

The gun was forced into Louise's hands, and from her limited firearm's experience even she knew it was loaded and ready to fire right now. It felt like a bomb in her hands. That was one feeling she couldn't get past.

"It's a single-action, so pretty much like a 1911." Siesta paused, choosing her words after she caught Louise's blank face. "Right, you don't even know what that is. The hammer has to be back for it to fire, or else the trigger won't do anything. The best way to carry it is with the hammer back and the safety on. Cocked and locked."

Siesta took the liberty of helping Louise find the safety, and even activated it for her. The gun was dropped into the holster, and Louise felt strange with the weight at her side. Siesta assured her that they would go over more on the pistol later, which was fine by Louise. She was honestly a little curious as to how the thing worked.

Scooping up her rifle, Louise stood next to Siesta as she laid her hand on the door. "Ready?" Siesta asked.

"No," Louise grumbled.

"Come on," Siesta chided, grinning. "Don't worry so much. I won't let you get _too_ beat up. Let's kick some gecko butt."

Louise didn't know how Siesta could be so enthusiastic about such a thing, and when she followed the woman into the dank depths of Sunnytime Cigarettes, Louise wondered what in the hell had gotten into her head to come to such a place. This could only be the beginning of one very unpleasant chapter of her life.

…

_A/N: Let me know if you guys spot any errors. It helps, because even after proofreading it seems I always miss a few._

_Quick note, because I'm about to go to work again. Sunnytime Cigarettes isn't a canon location near Goodsprings, but it is in the World of Pain mod, which adds a ton of new places to explore around the Mojave. In the mod it also looks a little different, but I don't think anybody would actually build a cigarette factory in the side of a mountain. _

_The AR-10 Siesta is carrying hasn't been seen in any game, but it's close enough to the service rifle that I think it fits. Think of the original 1950's version, not modern productions. I think Louise's lever-action fits in well enough with New Vegas's western vibe. That honestly makes me want to write her in an actual western setting someday. Her new Browning Hi-Power is obviously just the in-game 9mm pistol, because they look practically identical_


End file.
